


caught between the mirror and the country

by halfmoonsevenstars



Category: Captain America (Movies), DC Cinematic Universe, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Wonder Woman (2017)
Genre: Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-03
Updated: 2018-02-03
Packaged: 2019-03-12 22:24:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13556826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halfmoonsevenstars/pseuds/halfmoonsevenstars
Summary: Alexander Pierce has two secret weapons, even though they themselves do not know this.One is the Winter Soldier, a force of chaos and total destruction, pointed at enemies of the state like a missile.The other is Diana Prince, a balm to wounded souls, sent in the aftermath to soothe and heal in the name of democracy.





	caught between the mirror and the country

**Author's Note:**

> A great many thanks to [Suz](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Suzelle/pseuds/Suzelle) for beta-reading this work. You're the best! <3

**Madripoor, 1954.**

 

They call her in whenever there’s a diplomatic incident, and Diana never refuses a call. 

How could she? The god of war may have been vanquished a long time ago by human standards, but his legacy lives on, and it is her duty to mitigate what she can, where she can - even though Diana has sworn to never fight in a war again, not ever.

The first time Diana sees him, it’s because half a dozen Sokovian politicians have died by accidental carbon monoxide poisoning in their meeting room at the embassy in Madripoor. At least, that’s what’s been given out in the newspapers: a senseless tragedy, avoidable if Sokovia had maintained its ventilation systems properly. Everyone knows that Sokovia is a poor country, and the building is in terrible shape even from the outside, so it’s no wonder this happened.

SHIELD, however, isn’t so sure of that, so at Director Carter’s request, Diana goes. 

It takes her too long to find a viable lead; Madripoor is a city of shadows and secrets, and even Diana’s most dazzling smile unlocks no doors until she speaks with the homeless man who sleeps in the alley behind the embassy that she discovers a viable lead. He asks for nothing in return for his observations, but she slips him a few dinars anyway. 

It’s taken her a long time to even  _ want _ to be available for such a task. The interim between the First and Second World Wars had been quiet, mostly because she was too numb to do much of anything. It never ceased to amaze Diana that her pain was still as fresh upon waking every morning as it was on the morning of November 11, 1918. Even with Etta’s unwavering love and support, even though she’d never lost touch with Charlie or Sameer or Chief, she hurt anyway.

And then Pearl Harbor was bombed. She ought to have seen it coming, but still, it surprises her anyway on that bright, cold Sunday afternoon when Ed Murrow breaks into the regular programming. 

She would not fight, but she  _ would _ help, Diana decided. 

So she’d trained to work as a nurse, staying stateside this time. The army stationed her in Boston for the majority of the war, then transferred Diana in the early spring of 1945 to New York City to start preparing for the influx of returning soldiers that was sure to come in through the harbor.

And they had come: first in a trickle, then in waves, and then in a flood.

She lost count of them by mid-July, there were so many.

Even removed half a world away from the war, Diana saw plenty of the carnage the new weapons inflicted, and it was an exceptionally long four years for her. Diana had grown to like America in spite of its faults, and it was a great sorrow to her to see so many young men maimed and broken. And she loved her patients, even if they were difficult sometimes -  _ especially _ if they were difficult, sometimes. But since V-J Day, it had been quiet, mostly.

Diana almost doesn’t see him until she’s practically inside the alley where he’s flattened against the grimy brick, his gun already in hand. 

It takes everything in her not to sigh, because this isn’t going to be a battle he can win, even with that powerful-looking metal left arm of his. More worrisome than the prosthetic is the fathomless void that is his blue eyes, the way he moves as if programmed by clockwork, his utter lack of fear or regard for his own safety.

But it is not Diana’s job to engage. It is her job to observe and report only, and that is what she’s going to do. It’s not a crime to have a gun here, after all, and the diplomats hadn’t died by gunshot, so she memorizes everything about the near-encounter and heads back to the embassy. 

Deputy Chief Alexander Pierce listens to Diana’s debrief and nods. “Thank you, Miss Prince. You’ve given us some invaluable intel. Director Carter will be very pleased to hear this.”

“I’m glad to have been of service,” Diana says carefully. She’s met Director Carter a handful of times, a lovely and charming woman whose smile never quite reaches her eyes, and consequently, she’s always grateful to be contacted over the telephone than be summoned to appear in person.

Pierce smiles broadly. “Hopefully we won’t be seeing you again anytime soon.”

Diana barely manages to return it, suppressing the urge to swallow hard. “Please send her my regards.”

“Oh, I certainly will.”   
  


 

**Dallas, 1963.**

 

She makes it to Parkland Memorial Hospital in record time, only to find that the worst has come true: the president has died. 

Vice-President Johnson had requested Diana specifically, but she can’t even see him through the tight circle of Secret Service agents, and he leaves for Love Field before she can greet him and pass on her condolences.

But Mrs. Kennedy is still there, her tiny frame stiff and squared against the wall as she argues with her own Secret Service staff.

“I will not leave without Jack. Mr. Johnson can go ahead if he likes.” 

The agent bows his head respectfully before he goes to join his fellows in the Service, but not before motioning another agent to shadow the First Lady, and Diana sees for the first time the red smears, flecked here and there with white and grey, all over Mrs. Kennedy’s pink suit. Her stomach twists when she remembers that there are two small children in Washington waiting for their parents to come home. 

Diana turns on her heel, heads down the hallway, and knocks on the nurse manager’s office door.

Within ninety minutes, Mrs. Kennedy is on Air Force One watching as Vice-President Johnson is sworn in as President Johnson, her husband’s body in a wooden casket on the plane with her too. 

As the Kennedy administration becomes the Johnson administration, Diana quietly interviews everyone she can find who worked on the president or who was even in his proximity. It takes several hours, and she feels in need of a long, hot bath by the time she’s able to leave the hospital - particularly after talking to the agents who had been in the car with him. Diana isn’t sure that she’s ever seen anyone blame themselves this much, even though they are so obviously not at fault. 

Who could have prevented this, or seen it coming?

But she knows how they feel. 

There’s a flash that makes her squint into the dying sunlight as Diana makes her way down the steps and to her waiting taxi. 

She isn’t quick enough to get a complete look, but she’s left with the impression of bright blue eyes and an unshaven jaw.

Diana spends so long in the bath that it gets cold, but she doesn’t notice.

 

**New York City, 1973.**

 

She’s there to oversee security for the opening of the new World Trade Center, mostly because Diana had been the only person multiple federal agencies could agree on. She doesn’t mind too much; it’s been an easy job so far. So easy, in fact, that she’s starting to get bored. The New Yorkers hate the buildings that are about to become part of the skyline forever, but not enough to do more than complain about it on the subway. 

Diana decides to go for a long walk and simply take in the sights along the way, and because she’s never really cold, the fact that it’s near freezing outside is no problem. It’s actually a pleasant walk from the very southernmost part of Manhattan uptown, crossing over to the West Side via Houston St. Diana even stops along the way at a coffee shop on Bleecker to get a latte and cannoli, which she enjoys on a bench outside in a little park. 

The park is littered with trash and looks barren in the waning March afternoon sunlight, but she doesn’t mind, even if it is a lot different now from the New York of the Second World War. There’s much more graffiti all over the place, for one thing. More garbage on the streets. It’s almost like the city has given up trying.

Diana has always liked people-watching. Even after almost sixty years, it never ceases to amaze her that there are just so many different  _ kinds _ of humans in the world. And, more importantly, it keeps her focused on her mission; thinking of them as “them” instead of as individuals is what’s gotten everyone into all of this in the first place.

A woman comes along who could almost pass for Etta’s sister, and Diana takes a deep breath to calm herself. Etta has been gone for seven years now, but Diana still misses her. She had been Diana’s first and best friend in the world of man: kind-hearted, honest, funny, and always able to put her at ease. It still amazes Diana that Etta hadn’t complained even once while she was trying on all those clothes; although she’d joked about it, it had been clear that Etta hadn’t  _ really _ minded. Even now, Diana sometimes wonders how she’s going to get through the years without Etta.

But Etta would tell her to chin up and stop dwelling on what can’t be changed. Diana finishes her latte in one last long swallow and drops her trash into a nearby bin before resuming her walk uptown, at a somewhat faster pace than before.

She almost trips over him in Times Square. 

It’s not his fault - Diana had been walking with her eyes straight ahead to deflect, if at all possible, any catcalls or solicitations, and not looking down at the sidewalk, where he’s huddled beneath the awning to a pornographic movie theater, wrapped in a camouflage jacket a few sizes too big.

“I’m so sorry, friend,” she says, coloring with embarrassment. “I didn’t see you there.” 

“Friend? Do we know each other?” He turns his face up to hers, and underneath the baseball hat Diana can see intensely blue eyes. He looks familiar, but she can’t place him. Especially not with that beard, which has had at least a couple of weeks to grow.

“I’m not sure,” Diana tells him honestly. She’s met so many people over the years that they’re starting to become a blur. “We may have met before, but I don’t know.”

He nods, but his shoulders take on a rounder quality than before. “I’ll just have to trust you on that.” 

Diana doesn’t know what else to say, but she knows what she’s going to do now, and she digs into her coat pocket for her wallet. “It’s too cold out here. Please, get yourself something hot to eat and sit inside for a while. I’m sorry, I don’t have enough to help you get a hotel room.”

“Oh, that’s all right, miss. I’ve got a room down at a boarding house. I just needed to - get away from all the noise.”

She could understand that. Diana slips the cash into his gloved hand, glad that at least he’s protected from the elements in some way. “Be well,” she tells him. 

A smile flickers across the man’s face. “Thank you. It’s...nice to know that people still care about each other.”

“That’s my mission.”

The smile goes out, like a candle brought too close to the open window. “I forgot mine.”

“It will come back to you, friend. Or you’ll find a new one,” Diana says, hoping to be reassuring.

“God, I hope not.” He shivers and wraps himself up in the coat some more, folding into himself. 

It’s probably best if she leaves him be, Diana realizes, and she arranges her expression to one of good cheer. “Have a good afternoon,” she tells him, and decides to move on before she can upset him further. 

Stupid of her, to bring up missions in front of a veteran. She can only hope he does at least use her money - Diana really should carry more around with her - to get something to eat. He’d looked half-starved.

And she still can’t shake the feeling that she’s seen him before, a long time ago. 

But that’s silly, isn’t it? Diana can’t be right; he’d have to be twenty years older than that man had been. Even so…

She finds a pay phone at the edge of Central Park and dials Alexander Pierce’s private line, the one that only he answers - never a secretary or assistant. 

“Diana, how goes the grand ceremony?” Pierce greets her.

“Oh, it’s all fine. We’re on schedule to open on the 4th as planned.”

“Good, good,” he says warmly. “Rockefeller giving you any trouble?”

“No more than we’d expected.” Diana pauses. “Listen, I know this might sound strange, but do you remember way back in the early 50s, the third time you called me in? The Sokovian diplomats?”

“Yes, I think so. Why?”

“I saw that man in the alley nearby, the one with the metal hand and the Russian-made rifle. I think that I saw him again today.”

His voice sharpens. “Where?”

“Times Square. I know it’s been twenty years, and we never found him again, or a link between him and the deaths, but I - he just looks  _ so _ familiar, this man I saw today.”

“Are you positive?”

DIana has to be honest. “No. But I thought it was worth calling in.”

“You know that I believe you,” Pierce says, “but it does seem kind of like a stretch. We haven’t had wind of any murders in New York - well, not any we could link to an assassin, anyway.” He laughs, incongruously.

“You’re probably right.” She sighs. “Just for a moment, though, I was  _ so sure _ .”

“Better safe than sorry. It never hurts to talk it through with a friend, does it?”

_ Are we friends? _ “No, it doesn’t. Thank you, Alexander, for listening.”

“Anytime, Diana. Have a good rest of your trip, okay?”

She doesn’t.

The morning of April 4 is miserable, black and rainy to match her mood.

 

**Long Island, 1991.**

 

It’s been a cold winter so far, but there are still leaves on the trees, Diana notices. She doesn’t know why she’s focusing on that in particular - maybe it’s because it’s easier to look up into the tangle of branches than at the sight in front of her, where Howard and Maria Stark lie crumpled in the mangled, still-smoldering wreckage of their car.

She hadn’t known either of them personally, but that doesn’t really make it any better. They hadn’t even made it off their own estate before crashing into an ancient elm. This stretch of road is isolated, so much so that it’s only because Howard never arrived at the Pentagon that anyone had gone looking for them in the first place.

Diana hadn’t gone looking, but instead was sent here by Secretary Pierce on behalf of SHIELD, and she’s gotten here ahead of the emergency services; she can hear the faint wail of sirens in the distance, however, and she only has a few minutes to complete her task. 

Pierce had asked her to retrieve any sensitive information that Howard may have been carrying, which is understandable, given his destination. But when Diana hunts through the trunk - already knocked ajar - all she finds are a pair of suitcases containing ordinary travelers’ items. She checks the back seat to see if perhaps she’d missed anything, but it’s empty; there’s not so much as a manila folder lying there.

It’s not too difficult to persuade the local SHIELD agents who arrive on the tail of emergency services to allow Diana to review the security camera footage, even without mentioning Pierce’s or Fury’s names, and two agents are gracious enough to escort her to the Stark mansion. Finding the right tape takes some considerable effort, however, because there are cameras all over the property, which is vast even by her own standards. But eventually, and with some extra assistance from Agent Garrett, Diana manages to access the footage she needs. 

She exhales slowly as it begins, steeling herself for what’s sure to be horrific to witness in the moment.

The car doesn’t fishtail or swerve before it hits the tree, but neither does it appear to slow down at all. It strikes Diana as odd, until the motorcycle swings into view, and the breath catches in her throat as a glint of metal reflects off its headlight.

_ The Starks were run off the road _ , she realizes, just as the picture cuts out and she’s left with darkness on the screen. No amount of technological fiddling can get anything more out of it, and finally Diana gives up to call Secretary Pierce and tell him the news.

He sounds oddly almost disappointed that Diana hadn’t found anything in the Starks’ car, but it’s forgotten immediately when she explains about the tape. Diana answers nearly a dozen questions about what she’d seen on it, even though it had comprised a scant ten seconds, and finally he’s satisfied enough to end the interrogation after confirming a few points with her. Pierce is a copious note-taker, she knows, and perhaps he can make something out of all this that she can’t. Either way, it’s out of her hands now and being passed directly into those of Nicholas Fury.

As she flies back to Manhattan, Diana wonders who’s going to tell their son.

 

**Paris, 2014.**

 

She’s about to go home, having sent Laurent on his way already because he had a date and was getting visibly anxious about it, when the knock on her office door comes. 

“You’re here,” Diana says in French, stunned. 

The man smiles a little, although she has no idea why that might be funny, and responds to her in English. “It’s been a while.” 

His slight accent makes Diana think of tall, beautiful bridges; floppy slices of pizza folded over and eaten like a sandwich; a woman in the harbor lighting the way for those who would find refuge. 

“Did anyone see you?” she asks, because to ask how he got in here would be foolish - and insulting to him.

He shakes his head. 

“Come in, then.” Diana opens the door wider to accommodate him. “The hallway has cameras, but my office doesn’t. How did you find me?”

He sighs as he settles into the chair Diana offers, running his flesh hand through his hair, pushing it out of his eyes irritably. “This is probably gonna sound crazy, but I was watching the TV at a bus station and they showed the Twin Towers for some reason - and it made me remember you.”

“I was in the footage?”

“No. It just made me remember you. I - they took a lot from me.” 

“So you tracked me down? How did you find me?”

“It wasn’t that hard with all the SHIELD files out on the internet. You’re mentioned a lot in Pierce’s notes, sometimes in Carter’s. They didn’t even bother to give you a code name.”

That isn’t even the worst part, Diana finds out as he continues to talk.

Diana had always operated under the assumption she was off the books, so she’d never looked herself up. Foolish of her, she realizes. The number of files is truly staggering, and she’s spent a bit of time scrolling through them, but even with as fast as she can read, it would still require weeks to get through every single one - if not longer. She should have spent more time on it.

But now, people will eventually find out how old she is, where she’s been, what she’s done, the times she could have intervened and didn’t, all of her failures and her sorrows out there on public display because some rogue SHIELD agent decided to make a power play against Alexander Pierce.

Who is - who  _ was  _ \- HYDRA. 

Diana thinks she might throw up. 

She had never quite trusted Directors Carter or Fury, but she never quite trusted  _ anyone _ . However, they had more or less done the right things out of a sincere desire to make the world a better place, and Diana could respect that. She’d left her own home to end war and strife and senseless killing - not to facilitate it. 

And here she had enabled the most consummate of liars to do more damage to the world than General Luddendorf could ever have conjured in his wildest dreams.

Pierce had taken this man and turned him into a weapon of destruction, then virtually waved him right under Diana’s nose. He’d  _ taunted  _ her with him. And she had never realized it.    


If Ares wasn’t dead, if she had not killed him by her own hand, Diana would think he had returned in the form of Alexander Pierce.

She swallows hard as the man finishes explaining. “What do you need from me?” 

“Help me disappear.” 

“Are you sure that’s what you want?” 

He smiles again, and there’s no humor in it. “It’s not about want, Miss Prince.”

She takes a deep breath. “All right. I have some contacts in Bucharest.”

 

**Central City, 2016.**

 

Diana hadn’t been expecting any visitors to her hotel suite, especially not this late at night, but when she returns, she finds a man already there. Diana’s hands curl into fists at her sides as she prepares herself for the worst - and then she uncurls them as soon as she sees his face.

It’s Captain Steven Rogers. He’s dressed in nondescript clothes to make himself look bigger and rounder than he really is, rather than the uniform that he had made so famous, but it’s him nonetheless. She supposes she ought to be surprised, given that he’s supposed to have gone into hiding after refusing to sign the Sokovia Accords, but somehow she isn’t. He has never struck her as being particularly good at hiding.

“Miss Prince,” he begins haltingly, and he looks so miserable that Diana feels incredibly sorry for him. “I’m sorry to drop in on you like this, but I didn’t...it’s just...there’s been a lot to deal with.”

Given the events of the past few weeks, Diana thinks that might just be an understatement. First there had been the Lagos situation with a rogue HYDRA agent trying to steal biological weapons, then Director Carter had died (Diana hadn’t been able to bring herself to go to the funeral), and then the disaster at the UN building in Vienna that had killed the king of Wakanda - for which they’ve been blaming  _ him _ . 

She’d known it wasn’t Sgt. Barnes right away. How could it have been? The last thing he’d wanted on earth was to be found, and yet he had committed an act of international terrorism in broad daylight? It hadn’t made sense to Diana, and she’d checked in straightaway with her main Bucharest contact only to confirm that he hadn’t left the city in several months. 

And then there was the fight at the Leipzig airport that had caused so much damage. At least no civilians had been injured, but the CIA had still requested her help anyway, and so Diana had gone. But at least Sharon had been there. (Not that they’d let Sharon leave anyway, as she’d been involved in said fight. It had taken some doing on Diana’s part to get them to let her be.) And she’d filled Diana in on just about everything, even the parts Diana is fairly sure she isn’t supposed to know about. An underwater fortress to hold  _ political prisoners _ ? Insane. No wonder Captain Rogers had rebelled.

“Yes, I suppose so,” Diana replies. “Is there anything that I can do to help you?”

Captain Rogers shakes his head. “No, I can’t stay long. I have to get moving soon.”

“You must be doing a lot of that lately.”

His miserable expression lifts for just a moment and turns wry. “That I have, Miss Prince.”

“Then may I ask what brought you here?” 

“I just wanted to thank you. Bucky told me what you did for him,” he answers. “How you helped him disappear into Romania and get some peace for a while before it all went to hell.”

Diana shakes her head. “There’s no need to thank me. I would have done it for anyone who needed it.”

“But I still  _ want _ to,” Captain Rogers says firmly. “He’s safe now, but he wouldn’t be if you hadn’t been there when he needed you.”

“He is?” Diana doesn’t ask where. It’s better not to know, but she’s glad that he’s not in danger anymore.

“Yes. He doesn’t know I’m here. But I don’t think he’d mind.” Captain Rogers pauses for a moment, as if to steel himself. “Can I ask you a question?”

Diana smiles, as though it’s nothing to her, to be standing in front of yet another pure-hearted, bright-eyed, suicidally brave man named Steve. “Of course, Captain.” 

“Why  _ did _ you help him?”

She could give Captain Rogers any number of answers. She could tell him that it’s her duty, that she came to the world of man in the first place to help anyone who needed it. She could tell him that she merely felt sorry for Sgt. Barnes, as one would feel sorry for a wounded forest animal. She could even say, truthfully, that she felt a kinship from this man who can never go home again.

But Diana gives him the truth - the real one, not the one wrapped up in honor and selflessness.

“I’ve been nothing but a rumor, too.”

 

**Gotham City, 2017.**

 

“Did Steve Trevor fell you that?”

She doesn’t miss the way Barry visibly cringes, or how Arthur’s whole body goes tense like a steel coil, or that Victor has gone so still that he looks like a statue. Everyone’s watching to see what she’ll do next.

She could tell him about Steve Trevor, certainly, the way his smile felt like the midday sun and the shadow its absence has left over her heart. Diana could tell him about the Winter Soldier, a good man turned into a weapon against his own will, for cruel sport and capital gain, who she should have saved long ago and didn’t. She could tell him about SHIELD and HYDRA, how they’re one and the same and always have been. Or even about Captain America, on the run for the near future because he valued freedom more than his friendships. 

About all the things Bruce should already know, considering that his technology is miles better than even Tony Stark’s and he’s an inveterate snoop of the highest order. And so she won’t.

It's the smirk on his face that does it. He looks so much like Alexander Pierce right now, his eyes crinkling at the corners in faux mirth, his lips curled just so with benign paternalism. 

A red haze descends upon Diana’s vision.

_ You have no idea _ , she doesn’t say, and drives her fist into his solar plexus.

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from a lyric in A.A. Bondy's "Witness Blues".
> 
> In the 616 Marvel universe, as written by Ed Brubaker, the Winter Soldier breaks free of his programming for three weeks in early 1973 until he's caught by his Soviet handlers in New York City. I've always been fascinated by this interlude, so I decided to include it - or, my version of it - in this fic.


End file.
